


Again and again

by nanasekei



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 Fills [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Casual Sex, Lack of Communication, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, POV Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 10:37:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: Tony and Steve try to communicate, with mixed results.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 Fills [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485866
Comments: 45
Kudos: 472
Collections: Happy Steve Bingo 2019





	Again and again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riseupwiseupeyesup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseupwiseupeyesup/gifts).



> To rise. I hope you like it!
> 
> This is also for my Happy Steve Bingo square, "Non-verbal communication".

The first time it happens, it’s not the smartest thing Tony’s ever done. In fact, to be precise, it’s a little dangerous, reckless and - fine - maybe more than a bit stupid.

It happens in a split second: Tony turns towards Captain America, raises his hand, and fires his repulsor. The blaster goes straight straight to Cap’s shield, raised at precisely the right angle to send some chitauri heads flying off to the sky.

Tony can’t explain why it happens. Even if he’s okay with following Cap’s orders in the field, the two of them hardly got off to a nice start – and, honestly, even if they did, they’ve known each other for too little to pull off this kind of risky move. One second of confusion could make Cap think Tony was attacking him for some reason, or worse, make Cap reflect the blast right at him. 

It’s… _incredibly_ reckless, really, even for Tony’s standards.

Still, it happens, and it works.

Tony does not stick around to talk afterwards – there’s other things to worry about, and he has long learned that it does no good to interrogate sheer dumb luck when it comes across your path like that.

Cap goes back to the fight as well, and Tony pretty much forgets all about it.

* * *

That is, until it happens again.

And again.

Since it’s always unconscious, Tony frequently finds himself only reflecting on it hours later, when the battle is already over and they’re back in the Tower, or in the middle of a debrief. Then he realizes all the moments where he and Steve moved in perfect harmony to take the bad guy of the week down, and he’s always utterly shocked by the fact that, without fail, it happens without any planning or forewarning. He doesn’t remember ever falling _in sync_ with someone like this before, and, yeah, there’s no other way of putting it.

How bizarre, Tony thinks, eyeing Steve afterwards, trying to somehow gather if he might be thinking the same. But he ends up making himself look away, thinking no, it’s just a coincidence, and, besides, who’s to say it’s ever going to happen again, right?

And then it does.

Again and again.

* * *

It would be fair and logical, Tony imagines, if the wonderful synchronicity he and Steve fight with also translated to their relationship outside of the field.

Since Tony’s life is often neither fair nor logical, of course, it’s not the case. In fact, he and Steve spend most of the time when they’re not gracefully fighting together butting heads over every tiny, stupid, little thing; driving each other crazy with what should be the simplest of disagreements. Most of the time, they end up pissed and frustrated with each other, their battlefield connection nowhere to be found.

It does work with sex, though. And—oh yeah, _that’s_ a surprise. 

Tony hadn’t _planned_ to start hooking up with Steve at all, even if he has imagined it before (come on, who _hasn’t_ ), so it’s a shock when it happens, the moment right after a rarely peaceful banter, in the living room, where Tony lets his eyes wander to Steve’s pink mouth and he thinks _hmm, wouldn’t it be nice_ , and he looks up and notices the way Steve is looking at him. It’s an even bigger shock when their mouths crash together, Tony’s body roaring to life in a manner he frankly hadn’t imagined would happen with Mr. Capsicle, of all people.

They don’t even get to the bedroom. In the following times, though, Tony does tweak things a bit to get Steve to his penthouse, because, well, he’s not 21 anymore, okay? There’s only so many times he can handle awkward positions over the couch or the wall, and he has a king sized bed for a reason--to enjoy opportunities like this.

Especially because – well. Steve is the type of sweet that quickly becomes dangerous, because it gets addictive. He’s clumsy and alternates between seeming a little shy to being overly enthusiastic, kissing him open mouthed and blushing like a schoolboy afterwards, but this somehow works in his favor, because he keeps Tony intrigued in a way very few people can do.

Which is why it keeps happening.

Again and again.

* * *

They never really talk about it (of course they don’t), but Tony is aware that it isn’t a serious thing, what they have. It _can’t_ be. It’s too fickle: they can spend months without touching each other and then fall into bed at the drop of a hat, for unspecified reasons – a look, a flush, a little quirk of Steve’s mouth that’s just impossible to ignore.

It’s not a _thing_ , is what Tony means.

Which is why, when it stops, Tony is aware he has no right to miss it. He’s leaving the team, after all, and, having just come out the Ultron disaster, the last thing he and Steve need is another reason to be tense around each other.

They don’t _talk_ about it, of course (they’re bad at talking). Instead, when Tony leaves for good, he gets into a ramble about working things out with Pepper, maybe buying her a farm, and Steve’s eyes seem sad but also somewhat accepting, as if he, too, knows this is how it’s supposed to be.

* * *

Their weird sync continues, on the rare occasions Tony whips out the armor to help the team with a mission. Without the sex, though, it doesn’t extend to anything else.

Well. With one memorable exception.

 _Did you know_? Tony asks, desperately clinging to some remaining shred of doubt, but he already knows what Steve is going to say.

* * *

In hindsight, Tony wishes he had kept his reaction colder, less emotional. 

He also wishes he hadn’t attempted to kill Steve’s best friend, even if he – Steve, not the best friend – probably deserved it.

More than anything, he wishes he hadn’t been so… _transparent_. He wishes his grief and fury hadn’t blinded him to the need to armor himself to not let the wrong things come out. His stomach clenches and his chest tightens when he thinks of lying there on the hard ground, watching as Steve turned his back on him as he held onto Barnes, as Tony yelled at him like a rejected child.

He wonders if Steve was able to tell – if he was able to understand, truly, how much that _yes_ hurt, as if he tore through Tony’s chest with his bare hands (and Tony would know, because he’s been there before). He wonders if Steve was able to see through Tony’s righteous anger, to see the things he had tried to keep buried.

He wonders if Steve knows he misses him.

Tony thinks – _hopes_ – he doesn’t. He wants to cling to this last piece of dignity, at least.

He doesn’t want Steve to know he dreams of his mouth sometimes – that he wakes up thinking about the way he laughed and the way he moaned and the way a small dimple appeared in his cheek as he smiled. He doesn’t want Steve to know that he misses their effortless synchronicity in the battle field. Above all, he doesn’t want Steve to know he misses _not understanding him_ , misses the fights they’d have, misses staring at his face constantly trying to figure out what he was thinking and always, always failing.

* * *

A month after the disaster in Siberia, Tony waffles between calling or not calling Steve, twisting the flip phone on his hand.

He decides against it, because he knows they wouldn’t be able to talk, anyway.

* * *

The thing is, Tony _likes_ to not understand Steve. It’s bizarre, but he does. People alternatively elude or impress Tony, but they rarely _intrigue_ him. A genius mind wanders a lot – it’s hard to keep interest for long.

But this doesn’t apply to Steve. In fact, Tony finds that the more he finds out about Steve, the more he wants to know. Even now – with Steve away, with the mere thought of him hurting Tony’s chest – this is still true. He wants to know – he wants to understand. He wants to… to not understand, either, if that’s what it takes. He wants…

God, he wants to see Steve again.

Again and again.

* * *

Of course, when he _does_ see Steve again, it’s not by his own choice.

Granted, it’s not by Steve’s choice, either. In fact, Tony is pretty sure no one bothered to inform Thor of the entire ordeal he missed while roaming through space, so, when he comes back and decides they should gather the team together before Thanos comes, no one tells him to ask for Steve or Tony’s opinion beforehand.

Probably for the best, really.

The result is that they end up standing next to each other awkwardly in a crowded quinjet, and, every time Steve tries to say something, Tony makes sure to be very interested in literally anything else in the opposite direction.

It’s not the most mature thing to do, sure, but it’s what it takes to keep himself sane.

* * *

They fuck. Of course they do. It takes, what—just one battle for them to fall back in bed together again.

And Tony knows this isn’t sensible, that they shouldn’t, they _can’t_ just… But it all fades right after the victorious fight against Thanos, their bodies both reeling with adrenaline, and Tony unable to think of anything that isn’t _Steve_ , the way he moves, the way he commanded the team on the field.

Steve, to his credit, does try talking. He makes a valiant attempt to start a legitimate conversation while Tony is sucking on his neck, which means his results aren’t great – he’s too breathless and constantly interrupting himself with tiny gasps and noises that do nothing to convince Tony talking is the way to go. And he’s too— _delicious,_ honestly, and Tony has missed him too much to let either one of them ruin this moment.

“Shh,” he whispers, when Steve stutters that they should talk. They’re not good at talking, and right now, for their luck, they don’t _need_ it. Tony, at least, doesn’t – all he needs is Steve, one more time. Steve, alive, in his arms. Just one more time.

* * *

The epiphany – the obvious, glaring, ridiculous realization – hits Tony right after his orgasm.

That’s usually the moment where reality hits, where one comes back to earth, and the problem is that Tony doesn’t. Instead, he sinks his face on the curve of Steve’s neck, breathes in his sweat for a few moments, and then feels Steve’s strong hands stroking his back, as he whispers, “Maybe we should rest a little.”

Steve’s fingers are almost rough, still calloused and scarred from the early battle, and Tony wants to take his hand to his mouth, kiss each finger at least once. He spares both of them from this cheese fest by clinging to Steve’s waist and tilting his head upwards, brushing a kiss against his chin.

“Good idea,” Tony says, and Steve’s hands lower to Tony’s wrists, which is good, because Tony’s hands should be under the control of someone else right now, stopping him from writing _I love you_ on the tender spot between Steve’s neck and shoulder.

Steve smiles as if he’s surprised Tony accepted the idea, and although Tony knows for a fact he spent two years without seeing that smile, he isn’t sure how, at this very moment.

He should be angry, shouldn’t he? Or maybe Steve should – Tony certainly thought he would have some leftover protective fury over Barnes. They should be apologizing to each other, or, hell, even fighting again.

Either way, Tony is pretty sure _someone_ should be angry.

But, right now, climbing on the bed next to Steve, he doesn’t feel angry. He just—wants Steve to come closer.

“I missed you,” he says to Steve’s chest, in a whisper, so faint he almost hopes Steve can’t hear.

Steve, of course, does.

“You,” he stutters, and Tony raises his head. Steve is staring at him as if he said something unfathomable. “You—did?”

And Tony—see, this is why they should have talked. They should have talked, and they should have done it _earlier_ , years ago, when they started out this thing without words, which, at surface level, made sense, because words would have made it real.

But, see, the thing is—Tony wanted it to be real. He still does.

And right now, looking at Steve’s face, he has the distinct, surreal feeling he’s not the only one.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice so faint he barely recognizes it. “Yeah, I—I did. Even. Even earlier, I did.”

He hopes Steve can tell what _earlier_ means, because he doesn’t think he can actually explain it if asked. _I missed you even as I pushed you away. I missed you even before you left_.

“Tony,” Steve says, and—and it was _resignation_ , what Tony saw all those years ago in his eyes, when Tony stepped inside a car and out of his life, wasn’t it? He had been… resigned. Tony never knew, and he knows he shouldn’t, because—they should have talked, the two of them. They’re not good at talking, but they should have. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Yeah,” Tony interrupts, because he doesn’t want Steve to be sorry, now. He just wants him to be there. “I’m sorry, too, but.”

He doesn’t continue it, and the pause stretches, growing long enough to be absurd.

Steve gives him a sympathetic smile – does he get it? Is he feeling the same thing?

“But?” he asks, which—okay, so he doesn’t get it. That’s… fine, Tony thinks. They’re both fumbling their way through this. The thought is strangely comforting.

“But I want you to stay,” Tony replies, and right after the words come of his mouth he realizes that, yeah, this is it. This is what he should have said a long time ago.

Steve nods, and Tony smiles at his hurry, at his effort to agree very clearly. “I. I want that, too,” he says, voice very small.

“Okay.” Tony nods and shifts closer, body curling up against Steve’s, feeling the warmth of his large frame. “I guess we’re, uh, in agreement, then.”

“We are,” Steve agrees. This might be the most words they’ve said to each other after sex, ever, and it feels awkward but sweet, making little engines twirl in Tony’s stomach.

“We can talk more in the morning,” Tony suggests. In the suggestion there are a bunch of other words being said – _I want to talk about what happened; I want there to be a morning, too, because the night is not enough_. Tony isn’t sure if Steve hears them all, but it’s okay. He doesn’t have to.

“I’d like that,” Steve says, and, oh—there are probably other words behind this too, Tony thinks, and how much would he like to be able to grasp them.

But it’s also okay, because Steve is here – right next to him, eyes half-lidded, mouth curled in a peaceful smile as he starts to drift off to sleep.

Tony, by contrast, takes a little longer to start feeling his eyes getting heavy. He kills time by enjoying the contact of Steve’s body, the sound of his breath. He grazes his fingers over Steve’s bicep, up and down until his movements start spelling out letters and words he was afraid to say before.

Steve is sound asleep by now, so he probably doesn’t notice it, but it’s fine. Tony can tell him in the morning – and again later, in the future, as many times as Steve wants. Again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos make me very happy. You can also reblog the fic here.


End file.
